In the Home of Legend

We had flown to Romania, to the Carpathian Mountains, the very seat of legend and horror. Every year, a Halloween party was held there, in the restored remains of Dracula's Castle. While no one had lived here for centuries, not since the death of Vlad Tepes, the Impaler, the very Dracula of legend, folklore and ghost stories himself, the castle was frequently used as a tourist attraction. And even had it not been popular with tourists and vampire aficionados throughout the world, the Romanian people were fiercely proud of their ancient hero, the man who had stood, practically alone, against the tide of the Ottoman Turks.

We arrived at the castle and were awed by its majesty. It was a simple castle, not the glorified mansions of the movies, but elegant nonetheless. We followed the tour, gazing at the rooms that Vlad himself had once occupied from the bed chambers that he had undoubtedly taken many a mistress in to the balcony where he had reportedly dined as he watched thousands of his enemies being impaled. It was that legend that had earned him the sobriquet "the Impaler".

We were escorted to the main ballroom which was smaller than expected. It had been explained that in the cold, frigid Carpathian winters, larger rooms were difficult to heat to satisfaction and that only the close press of bodies truly kept it warm. We did not truly care. We were in the home of legend.

The party truly began here. The music began to play, soft at first but it would get more primal as the night wore on. Servers wove their way through the crowd, wielding trays of red wine that seemed to reflect the myths of blood drinking vampires. It was merely a deep red wine that was bottled right here at the castle, each bottle sealed and stamped with the Tepes crest and a gothic "D".

You and I drank sparingly. The crowd was beginning to become uncomfortable for the both of us. We mingled, we even danced some, but this was becoming somewhere we did not wish to be. So we snuck off.

We had been warned to stay with the group, not to wander off on our own. But we could not resist. There was a hunger in the air that could not be explained by the party. A hunger that could not be denied. It was as if the castle itself were alive, hungering for life, hungering for something that the large crowd and its frantic, frenetic movement alone could not provide.

We wandered down the darkened corridors, lit only enough to allow us to see barely a few feet in front of us. And sounds coming from even darker alcoves informed us that we were not the only ones who had felt the hunger on this place. We wandered along, hearing the moans of desire and pleasure echo down the stone corridors, feeling them wash over us and feeding our own desire.

We wandered alone, my hand reaching out and trailing against the wall for a reason I could not fathom, a feeling I could not describe. A sudden, soft, click caught our ears just moments before the wall beside us began to shift with a rough, scraping sound. This was a room that had not been on the tour. I must have accidentally tripped a trigger to a hidden door. Had I truly found a never before discovered secret chamber?

It truly did not matter. I grabbed your hand and pulled you inside, driven by a frenzied hunger that I had not truly felt since our first time together. By the lack of resistance from you, your eagerness to join me, I knew that you felt it too.

The door swung closed behind us, unnoticed, as I pulled you in for a kiss. Our hands quickly began to explore each other's bodies, as if we had never done so. Each time with you was a wonder, an experience like no other, but this was different, as if we were possessed, our hands guided by the thoughts of another. And we did not care.

We managed to disrobe each other, practically without thought. You kissed my neck, nibbling the skin, and then dropped to your knees, taking my length into your mouth. I wrapped my fingers in your hair and moaned as you expertly licked and sucked me, applying a pressure that drove me wild.

Had I been more aware, more myself, I would have stopped you before long but I was not. I exploded into your mouth, groaning and bucking uncontrollably. You swallowed each and every drop, your fingers dipping down into your wetness and exploring your own depths.

Finally, you stood, kissing me. I pushed you up against the cold wall, kneeling down. You rested your leg on my shoulder, grabbing my long hair for balance as I slid my tongue and fingers into you. There was none of the foreplay, none of the teasing that I so thoroughly enjoyed. There was only the hunger. And I feasted, licking you, tasting you, sliding my fingers into you until you exploded, clutching my hair even tighter as you came, screaming.

When I stood, I turned you to face the wall, wrapping my arms around you to cup your delicious breasts. I slid myself into you, with more force than I generally used upon initial insertion. But neither of noticed. You groaned as I plunged in and out, one hand slipping down to rub your clit as the other massaged your breasts. You screamed out in pleasure as yet another orgasm ripped through you.

I felt myself boiling up but held back. I slid out of you as yet another orgasm subsided. Changing my angle only slightly, I entered you again, but this time in your other entrance. You groaned as I slid in, more gently than before but still not as gentle as usual. And then I resumed the feverish pace set by whatever force had overcome us. My fingers had never ceased their caressing of your clit and nipples and you soon came again, screaming once more. Unable to hold back any longer, I exploded into you, filling you.

We collapsed, exhausted, feeling the otherworldly presence depart, finally sated, if only for the time being. We kissed each other, sighing in satisfaction and wonder. The thought of how we would return to the party not yet crossing our minds.